


Relapse

by erohani



Category: Original Work
Genre: Bad Decisions, Blow Jobs, Cheating, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-09
Updated: 2020-12-09
Packaged: 2021-03-10 09:47:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,404
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27968540
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/erohani/pseuds/erohani
Summary: With Devika up in their hotel room puking her guts out, there was no one to stop Samar from approaching Imran at the baraat.
Kudos: 3





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**Author's Note:**

> For anyone who is unfamiliar with South Asian weddings, the main thing you need to know is that they typically include multiple events spread out over the course of several days. The one happening here is a baraat, which is when the groom and his guests process to the wedding venue. It's kind of like a parade; there's dancing and music and the groom rides a white horse or a vintage car or something else that's extra af.

With Devika up in their hotel room puking her guts out, there was no one to stop Samar from approaching Imran at the baraat.

They hadn’t spoken apart from an agonizing greeting at the first wedding event, during which Imran and his New Boyfriend looked frustratingly beautiful together, while Samar was exceedingly aware of every spare pound he’d acquired since Imran dumped his sorry ass. It was one thing to scroll through Imran’s social media feed, drowning in jealousy and self-pity from the privacy of his own sofa; to see them in the flesh, dancing and unsubtly groping each other when they thought no one was looking, was something else entirely. A whole new experience in suffering.

Devika had been keeping Samar in check for the past three days of this week-long nightmare. She jabbed him in the belly every time his expression got a little too sour, rerouted them from one end of the banquet hall to the next whenever they ran a collision course with Imran and the New Boyfriend, made space for herself on Samar’s bed each night and made snide comments as he cruised through Grindr. She was absolutely killing the best friend game up until she went and lost a fight with a cheap bottle of tequila at the sangeet’s afterparty, which was how Samar found himself alone and without his wing woman at the baraat.

Watching people party in the sun while he sulked indoors seemed an apt metaphor for his life. He’d caught a glimpse of the New Boyfriend out there, the silver buttons of his peacock blue sherwani sparkling as he danced in time to the dholki’s beat. Samar squinted at the groom’s procession, searching for Imran in the crowd. Even though Imran had been invited by the bride, he was the sort of person who’d invite himself to one of the groom’s events.

Samar sipped his tea and found it criminally oversteeped, which also seemed apt.

“Maybe you missed the memo, but it’s the bride’s family who’s supposed to look unhappy,” Imran drawled as he sidled up beside Samar, a half eaten spiral of violently orange jalebi held between long fingers. For the human embodiment of garbage, he smelled fucking amazing.

“Keep talking to me and I’ll go from unhappy to straight up murderous,” Samar said, trying and failing to emulate the loose-limbed ease that Imran possessed.

Imran laughed and Samar couldn’t help the traitorous thrill that radiated up his spine. “I forgot how much of a downer you are,” he said, which was deeply unfair because Samar was only ever a downer when outside forces beyond his control (for example, a shitty ex-boyfriend) went out of the way to make his life difficult. Imran ate the rest of his sweet and sucked the sticky-shiny syrup off his fingers, eyes unblinking. “So, where’s Devika? This is right about when she cuts in with some lie about how she wants more refreshments and drags you away.”

Samar felt hot under his collar. The mature thing to do was rebuff Imran’s provocations and find a swift exit from this conversation. That would be the smart thing. Instead, Samar asked, “Does your boyfriend know that you’re in here talking to me?” 

“Are you worried on Nikhil’s behalf?” Imran looked like he was enjoying this thoroughly, smile crooked and his fingers wet. “Why? Should he be worried?” he asked, eyes bright.

Anyone dating Imran had plenty to be worried about. For one, he was an emotional sadist who delighted in causing drawn-out heartache and debilitating frustration. For another, his devotion was capricious and he used and discarded people as soon as they ceased to be interesting.

But the biggest thing to be worried about was just how overwhelming it was being the object of his attention. It was intoxicating.

Mouth dry, Samar said, “If he knows you at all, he should be very worried.”

“Is that so?” Imran’s smile grew and he leaned in to murmur, “Too bad he doesn’t know me like you do.”

Imran led the way to the family restroom with a confidence that Samar didn’t want to examine too closely. The second the door locked shut, Samar found himself shoved up against the tiled wall with Imran’s fingers tangled in his hair. It was like so many of the stolen encounters they had back when they were dating—frenzied and dirty and borderline painful. Imran kissed like he was fighting a war, mouth hot and vicious, eager to inflict sharp bites without consideration of the tender aches he left behind. But Samar always let him, always kissed him back with his aching mouth.

It was starting to feel a little unreal, a little too much, and Samar grabbed Imran by the hips, clung to him for dear life and pulled him until they were pressed flush together. He dug his fingers in, felt his nails tug at the embroidery of Imran’s sherwani. He could feel the heat of Imran’s dick, even through their clothing. He could feel it twitch against his.

“ _ Samar _ ,” Imran purred, totally unselfconscious. He licked the sweet taste of jalebi into Samar’s mouth and tipped his head to the side, dragging his tongue over his pulse. Samar let out a broken groan and Imran smiled into the crook of his neck.

He slid a hand down between them, peeling away layers of clothing until he got Samar’s dick in a grip that was just on the right side of tight. A full-bodied shudder ripped through Samar and he gasped, “I—”

The moment stilled. None of the music from outside could be heard in this bubble. It was just them and the shudder of their breaths.

Imran leaned forward to touch his forehead to Samar’s. He said, softly, “You good?” and Samar’s heart skipped a beat.

“Yes,” he said, mouth wet and pupils swollen.

Imran smiled. A nice smile.

Then he sank to his knees.

Samar felt the ghost of Imran’s breath before he sank into the velvety heat of his mouth. Samar smacked his skull back into the tile, fingers scrabbling for purchase as Imran went to work, tongue swiping at pearly beads of pre-cum and throat flexing as he set a punishingly slow pace. Imran kept a firm hold on Samar’s hips, fingers squeezing hard enough to bruise whenever Samar couldn’t suppress a roll of the hips, the wet noise of Imran choking echoing obscenely over the tiles.

Samar had his eyes closed for so long that he didn’t notice Imran jerking himself off until the pace grew erratic, the grip on his hip gone. He wished he could see Imran fucking into the curve of his hand, but he settled for watching the way his eyebrows twitched, threading his fingers through dark hair, and started shallowly thrusting into the gasping mess of Imran’s mouth.

Imran’s head bobbed to meet him, forcing Samar’s dick deeper and deeper until Samar saw white and his hips stuttered as he came. Imran allowed himself to be held in place, frantically pumping his dick and gagging quietly as he fought to swallow. When Imran’s whole body went still with tension, Samar pulled out and lifted Imran’s chin, watching his eyes go big and glassy as cum cascaded over his fingers.

Before Imran could catch his breath and fall back into his body, Samar leaned down and kissed him. Spit shined on his swollen lips, just like the syrup from the jalebi.

Nikhil hadn’t noticed anything odd about Imran after the groom’s procession finally entered the hotel, judging by the easy kiss he pressed to Imran’s cheek.

While everyone had their eyes on the bride and groom beneath the mandap’s cascade of flowers during the wedding ceremony, Samar observed Imran and Nikhil instead. It was odd. The fondness in Imran’s every glance at Nikhil stood in stark contrast to the way Imran had looked up at Samar from down on his knees. It made him feel crazy, like that stolen moment in the bathroom hadn’t been real.

He wanted to be angry with Imran, or at the very least to feel guilty about Nikhil. But he still had a pleasantly sated buzz in his belly that made lasting negativity impossible.

The bride and groom began taking the seven steps around the fire. The guests watched, enraptured. Samar stared at the back of Imran’s head.

Then, Imran glanced over his shoulder and caught Samar’s eye.

He grinned.


End file.
